Quote

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Love
Pleasures
Till
Childishly
Thou
Troth
Seven
Weaned
Loved
Snorted
Wonder
Sleepers
Pleasure
Dens
Country
Sucked

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There is nothing that God hath established in a constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a Miracle, and exercise our admiration, if it were done but once.
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At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole.
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Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?
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Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.
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Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock breathe, shine, and seek to mend That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
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I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
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Great sorrows cannot speak.
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In heaven it is always autumn.
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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
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Friends are ourselves.
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Tis true, 'tis day what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise, because 'tis light? Did we lie down, because 'twas night? Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither Should in despite of light keep us together.
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I shall die reading since my book and a grave are so near.
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To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.
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One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more Death, thou shalt die.
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And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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Eternity is not an everlasting flux of time, but time is as a short parenthesis in a long period.
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Poor heretics there be,Which think to establish dangerous constancy,But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,You shall be true to them, who are false to you.
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